Heavy are the Hearts: the smut chapter
by Bathorybabe
Summary: The full on smut of ch. 14 from my fic "heavy are the hearts who wear the crown." Posted separately to protect those who do not like smut, but available here to those who do.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the smut chapter for my fic "Heavy Are the Hearts that Wear the Crown." Since not everyone is into the naughty bits of fanfiction I decided to post the full chapter here in all its smutty glory instead of changing my rating to M, and thereby potentially losing readers. Enjoy.**

Elissa hesitantly opened the door to the royal bedroom, forcing her spine straight and wearing a cloak of confidence she clearly did not feel. Dinner had been sheer torture that night. Wanting to keep the news of the elven guard's demise under wraps for as long as possible, she had insisted on the celebration dinner to honor the champions of the tourney continue on as planned. Of all the times in which Elissa had found herself having to fake emotions, none was so trying as that feast. Thoughts of Shianni, Ambrose, Alistair and decapitated heads bombarded her throughout the evening, and she found her brilliant smile strain at the corner of her mouth as she sought to play the part of Queen. The nobility had no idea what transpired, and took full advantage of her hospitality, drinking and laughing long into the night. The sound of such gaiety seemed taunting and cruel when Elissa thought on the dismembered elf. She had not even bothered to ask his name, and the idea of such callousness shamed her to her soul.

Alistair had been absent during the festivities, and Elissa found herself making excuses for her husband, all the while wondering if she could lay the blame for his absence at the feet of Eamon, the scheming snake. And so she had come to their bedroom as soon as she was able, dreading what she would encounter when face to face with the man, but determined to see it through, even if it meant her ruin.

Alistair was seated in a chair, his back to her, eyes focused on a dying fire that lay smoldering in the hearth. Elissa calmly closed the door and cleared her throat, announcing her presence, but he didn't so much as flinch at the noise.

"You weren't at dinner," she said softly, "are you well?"

"Why, Elissa?" he asked, clearly not wanting to engage in pretense.

"What's done is done, Alistair," she murmured, walking wearily to bed, her fingers wrapping around the bed post in an effort to steady herself.

"Do you realize what you have done?" he asked, voice gravely and harsh.

"I've acted like a queen," she said, her tone the very model of righteousness.

"Funny how that is your reasoning for everything these days," Alistair said bitterly, finally turning his head to look upon her.

"It is my reasoning because it is the truth," she said, embarrassed at the pleading tone in her voice, "A queen has a duty to her people, to see them whole and cared for. It is too great a burden and I am but one woman but it is _every day_, Alistair. And If I do not make the hard choices, if I do not push you to do the very same, then our people _die_, by the hundreds, and I will not let that stand so that someone's feelings can be spared."

"A duty to her people, but what of her friends?" Alistair countered softly, turning to gaze at his fisted hands, clutched tightly about something she could not see.

"I do not want to talk about Shianni," Elissa said harshly, her voice catching on the elven woman's name.

"If not Shianni, then let's discuss Ambrose," Alistair replied angrily, swiftly rising to his feet. "Is your duty to him greater than that of your people?"

"What are you talking about?" she snapped, feigning ignorance as she strode to her vanity, refusing to meet his gaze. "Ambrose has nothing to do with this."

"Yes, but he does have something to do with _this_," Alistair said patiently, loosening his fist to reveal a crumpled lavender ribbon. Elissa stared hard at the favor and felt herself grow pale. She knew she would have to face the consequences of goading Eamon into action, but she truly had not thought the man such a fool to press the issue when other, far more dire circumstances demanded the king's attention.

"I can't believe it," Elissa breathed with a shake of her head, "the bastard really sought you out to tattle on me."

"What is the meaning of this?" her husband prodded, refusing to be thrown off track by her comments.

"Ambrose sought my favor," Elissa answered simply, hands reaching up to loosen the many plaits that bound her hair, "And as you were not competing, nor anywhere to be found, I saw no harm in bestowing the token upon my dear friend."

"You are my wife," Alistair hissed, throwing the bit of fabric to the ground, "whether I am competing or not, your favors are mine."

"And as your wife I have been offering my favors for weeks now," she countered angrily, "the only favors that truly matter and you have run from them every time. Do not seek to punish me over a scrap of ribbon when you have not done so much as kiss me behind closed doors!"

"It is not just the blighted favor, Elissa," Alistair growled, "Eamon has watched you, had seen how you dote on that man."

"I warned you that Eamon would do this Alistair," she cried, rising to her feet, "I warned you that should you not get on heir on me that man would concoct a reason for my immediate dismissal. Are you shocked that he has now done so?"

"_I_ have seen you, Elissa!" Alistair accused, "leaning far too close and sharing whispered conversations that leaving you breathless."

"From laughter, you buffoon! And before you lay any more accusations at my feet allow me to point out that _Ambrose_ is far more likely to seduce you than he ever would me!"

Alistair stared at her in shock, all his righteous anger leaving him in a rush. Elissa would have found it funny had she not been so filled with indignation and the need to defend her honor.

"You mean…that is to say…he's…"

"Fey? Yes, which is why you have nothing to fear from that quarter at least," she replied softly, her tone hurt and defensive. "And had Eamon even once bothered to do his research into the subject he would have discovered the truth quite quickly. Ambrose is rather famous for his exploits. But that is not the way of our _dear_ chancellor, he is far more concerned with appearances than facts."

"He wants me to seek a divorce," Alistair said meekly, eyes downcast, "on ground of infidelity."

Elissa stared at him hard, silence stretching tight between them. She had known this was coming, even had prepared herself for the devastating blow, but she was laid low when presented with the reality of it. Something inside her broke, shifted, and she lost all sense of nobility and dignity. She would not back out graciously, slinking away to live out her life in shame and ignominy. She would dig in a fight, with claws and teeth, for her position, her life, and yes, even for this man standing before her. A man whom against all odds, she had come to care for in some small way. It was not love, of that she knew, but she found herself drawn to his sense of humor, his unexpected kindness, and she could not deny that something in her sparked hot and heavy when he railed at her with such impassioned speech, his eyes blazing and locked with hers. So no, she would not acquiesce to an old man's scheming. This is where she belonged. She was the _queen_.

"Infidelity?" she said, her voice harsh and grating, "I'll show you infidelity." Angrily she pulled at her gown, unlacing the stays with fumbling, shaking fingers. Alistair followed their progress with wide eyes, face blushing crimson.

"Elissa, you don't-"

"I will not stand by while my virtue is called into question," she cried as she pulled the garment from her body, leaving her in nothing but hose and a corset, "I have done nothing but try to be a wife to you in more than name, and by the Maker, I will not suffer fools who seek to wrest my crown because you will not take me as I have asked you to." She angrily strode to him, hands fisting the fabric of his doublet as she pushed him hard against the wall. Alistair gazed down at her, breath coming in labored pants as he drank her in. She was magnificent in her fury, and he could not deny that a part of him, the part that was undeniably male, roared its approval at her actions. He could not help but think back to the few moments of intimacy they had shared, each kiss and touch flashing through his mind until his skin fair hummed with the desire to trail his fingers along her honey skin. It had been too long since he had lost himself in the embrace of a woman, and he yearned to slake his lust, an emotion that had been growing with every night he slept beside his wife, in the beautiful woman standing before him.

"Elissa, don't do this," he murmured softly, unable to tear his eyes away from her heart shaped lips, his voice husky and low.

"Give me a reason not to," she said angrily, her dark eyes flashing, "Do it, Alistair, take me, and I'll show you proof of my fidelity! Spill my virgin blood and you will see that I have been a faithful wife!"

It was too much and he was helpless against her demands. When his lips met hers in a crushing and possessive kiss, Alistair lost all sense of reason and restraint. She was so close, her body pressing a line against his that set his skin ablaze. He moaned hungrily into her mouth, the sound swallowed as she parted her lips, allowing him access to deepen his embrace, tongues dueling for supremacy. His hands moved of their own accord, one fisting the cascade of hair at her nape, the other clutching her hip, urging her closer. When she pulled back to catch her breath, eyes half lidded, he growled at the loss of contact and tightened his grip, refusing to let another inch separate them.

"Would it not be better on a bed, Alistair?" Elissa panted, the familiar tartness to her voice goading him even further. In response he spun her about, pinning her to the wall and dipping his head to claim her mouth once again. She let out a gasp of surprise, one that soon turned to a gasp of pleasure as he thrust his pelvis into hers, marveling at how well her hips cradled him; a perfect fit. Alistair's hand caressed a burning trail over her skin, wanting to explore every inch of her exposed flesh, as if he would never get enough. Elissa's nail's pricked into his back as he trailed his fingers over her neck, her body arching into him, silently asking for more.

"Maker…you taste like every man's downfall," he whispered against her lips, breath hot and labored. She should have been angry at his words, furious, but lost as she was in that moment it did nothing but cause her to reclaim his mouth, kissing him with a renewed passion that lit the two of them with need.

Elissa fumbled to unlace his doublet, pausing to gasp as he licked a sensuous line from her jaw to her collar bone, nipping the sensitive flesh where shoulder joined neck. When at last she managed to tear the garment from him, tossing it to the floor, she ran her hands up the smooth planes of his chest, finger tips grazing over the silver webs of scars that marked his flesh. His hissed in pleasure with every stroke and soon found himself grinding against her hips, desperately seeking more. When he thrust just right, brushing his hard length against her core, she cried out, head thrown back at the sensation, and something primal over took him. With a possessive roar he wrapped an arm about her waist, hoisting her into the air, free hand moving to wrap her lean legs around his hips, pulling her close with a teasing grind.

"Alistair," Elissa breathed, unconsciously writhing against him, each movement a torture all its own. He could hear the unspoken begging in her voice, took satisfaction in knowing that he was the cause of her flushed skin, her labored pants, and turned from them from the wall, stumbling to the bed with renewed urgency. The pair of them collapsed on the mattress, mouths fusing together once more, and Alistair harshly tugged at her corset, ripping the laces with a single swipe. Just like that the barrier parted, and he was rewarded with the sight of her breasts, perfectly formed and tipped with nipples that had pebbled deliciously. He took a moment to drink her in, savoring the way her flesh moved softly from one curve to the next. When at last he could not stand it he bent his head and took a dusky peak in his mouth, laving the morsel with tongue. Elissa cried out, back arching as her hands fisted the bed sheets, eyes closed against the pleasure. How long he spent paying homage to her chest, she could not say, lost as she was to the sensation of being worshiped so. Only when she thought he would go mad, yearning for more, did she feel his hand snake down her waist, fingers delving beneath her smalls to brush teasingly over her silken folds. She thought she had experienced pleasure, but with the slightest touch Alistair undid her, and she screamed her ecstasy to the rafters. Never once did he let up his tongues ministrations on her nipples, but she felt him chuckle wickedly at her cry, breath hot and gentle against her sweat slicked skin.

Alistair teased her mercilessly, gliding his fingers between her folds, never penetrating, simply exploring, taunting. Elissa's cries became more frantic and her hips thrust upwards to meet his touch, seeking a pleasure she could not name. Just when she thought she could not stand it she felt him slip a single finger into her core and she sighed at the relief, moaning with satisfaction. So smoothly did he glide his hand, adding a second, and at last a third, stretching her center in the most sinful way. She delighted in every second of it, hips rocking back to meet his thrusts, certain that she would never get enough of this carnal pleasure. When he flattened the palm of his hand against her nub, exerting the gentlest of pressure, her world exploded and she thrashed beneath his ministrations, screaming his name in a hoarse voice as her climax rocked her. Alistair never stopped his ministrations, seeking to extend her pleasure until she was mindless with it. He was almost sadistic in his touch, seeking to torment her with every stroke; something about her brought out a feral, and base side of himself, and he was shocked to discover he liked it. Liked hearing his name on her lips, body held captive beneath his as he tore away every layer of her carefully constructed defenses, leaving her nothing more than so very compliant and submissive to his desires. He realized then that every fight, every painful word shared between them had been a vicious sort of foreplay leading to this moment. There was no love in the act, only untamed lust, finally freed to bend them to its will.

When at last Elissa quieted, chest flushed and heaving with the afterglow of her orgasm, Alistair ceased his teasing, hands moving to unlace his breeches. Elissa watched him with pleasure drunk eyes, her pupils dilated with desire, limbs suffused and languid. When at last he was free of clothes, his thick, hardened member drew her gaze, and she swallowed hesitantly; nerves and eager anticipation filling her thoughts. She only hoped that he remembered, nay _believed_, that she was still a maid, and as such would be gentle, though a part of her screamed for anything but. He crawled up her body, eyes locked with hers, irises flashing predatory and dangerous. He paused to hook his fingers into the band of her smalls, pulling them slowly down her legs until she lay bare before him, wet and glistening with the after effects of her climax. His gaze lingered, eyes tracing her every line of her folds and Elissa writhed beneath the weight of it.

After completing his slow ascent, he paused, the tip of his erection poised at her entrance, the head brushing ever so slightly against her clitoris, making a torment of the waiting. Elissa thought she would be nervous, worried about pain and discomfort, but lying there, pinned beneath the weight of her husband she felt nothing but need, and she had to still herself from thrusting her hips into him, body seeking out a different kind of release.

Without warning he surged inside her, forcing every inch of his length past her virginal barrier and Elissa cried out, a sound mixed with pain and exquisite pleasure. Alistair didn't so much as pause before withdrawing and once again slamming himself into her. With every thrust the pain diminished, and Elissa soon found herself rising to meet his hips, flesh slapping together as they sought to bring each other to completion. Alistair moaned above her, eyes flickering closed as he savored the tightness of her sheath.

"Elissa," he whispered, slamming into her once more, "so tight…so good."

"Yes," she moaned in reply, legs wrapping about his back in an effort to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of his hard, throbbing cock. "Yes, yes, yes."

They continued to writhe against one another, breaths gasping out in harmony until it was hard to tell which pant belonged to whom. Elissa could feel herself spiraling towards another climax, delicious warmth spreading from her center to spiral out into the world. She could feel the tension in Alistair's muscles, each movement becoming at once controlled and frenzied. She arched her back, seeking to grind her clit against his pelvis and Alistair roared, unprepared for the sudden tightening of her walls, and he lost all control. He gripped her hips harshly, slamming them against him as he took her rough and fast. Elissa would have protested had she not been swept up in the mind shattering climax, the rough treatment an unexpected pleasure. As her muscles spasmed about his length, so wide and hard, Alistair snapped his hips once, twice, before following her over the edge, his seed bursting from him in hot, thick ropes.

The pair collapsed on the bed, neither capable of forming speech. Had a group of eleven revolutionaries burst into the room, weapons drawn, neither would have been able to move let alone run from the attack, so completely sated were they. Minutes ticked by as they fought to regain control of their breathing. Elissa was first to come back to herself, shock, guilt, and heady satisfaction consuming her thoughts. When she had pictured this day it had been filled with determination and unpleasant acts, a duty she had to see through. Never did she think that she would be consumed with such an over whelming desire to be consumed and possessed. She had utterly abandoned herself to Alistair, and upon remembering the fight that had led to their consummation she felt shame over take her. This was a man who had accused her of infidelity, had spoken of divorce; yet with a few well placed caresses she had forgotten her anger, been driven by her base needs and surrendered to lust as if such hurtful words had never been spoken.

Feeling the sudden need to distance herself from the man beside her, she quickly rolled off the bed, hands reaching for her discarded gown. Clutching the fabric to her chest, wanting every inch of her exposed flesh hidden, she turned back to face her husband. He looked at her, eyes guarded and revealing nothing of what he was thinking. Unable to hide her own emotions, she flicked her gaze to the bed linens, eyes landing on a small smattering of crimson droplets that stained the crisp white.

"There is your 'infidelity,' my lord," she said softly, "I do hope you are not disappointed."

"Elissa-" he murmured, voice rich with a thousand emotions she was not prepared to deal with.

"Burn it," she said hastily, turning away, "or else the servants will talk. You cannot have taken my virtue twice, after all."

When he said nothing she walked steadily to the small bathing chamber attached to their rooms, never once looking back, afraid of what she would see in her husband's eyes. She closed the door softly behind her, heart clenching at the sound of Alistair sighing wearily from the bed, a sound so full of loss and satisfaction that it hurt to hear.


	2. Chapter 19 the smut version

**A/N:** **Being sick sucks. Beyond the telling of it. So do forgive me if this installment is off, or weird…I'm a bit loopy because of the fever and meds…**

**Also…more smut! Yay! Except, it's more sweet, moving the story along smut than the previous rendition. Anyway, this is the full version on the chapter, smut included. **

And so the tension in Denerim simmered through the remainder of autumn. Fear, anger, hatred, and ill thoughts spread across the city like a plague, blanketing the thatched roofs with an oppressive pall, leeching merriment from the every citizen within its walls.

True to her word, Shianni had led a squadron of armed guards into the Alienage and arrested six of Mortain's conspirators. The man himself, along with Simon and Sabine, were nowhere to be found, and those detained remained tight lipped when questioned about the trio's whereabouts. They were not the first prisoners of this make shift war between elves and humans, nor would they be the last. Over the course of the following weeks, more uprisings would be staged in the city and more and more elves would be brought to the castle's dungeon, charges of treason, assault, and murder read like a black prayer as they filed past the throne. Alistair and Elissa watched it all with dull eyes, their faces placid and calm, though inside Elissa could feel her guts twisting in shame and despair. Every day that passed with no word of Mortain, and more elves glaring at her with cold, unfeeling gazes, she felt as if she were slowly bleeding to death from a thousand tiny cuts. She was drowning, and despite her and Alistair's noble and frantic efforts to stem the tide of unrest, nothing seemed to pull them towards land.

Disbanding the elven guard had saved those men from being slaughtered at the hands of radicals, but housing them within the palace had Mortain's followers crying foul, accusing the crown of holding their citizens hostage to ensure obedience from the Alienage. Despite the outcry, Elissa refused to let them go, knowing that if she released them to their own devices, they would most assuredly meet their bloody end. No one was more grateful for her hard line stance on the matter than Ambrose. In between the moments of chaotic discord, Elissa had managed to find a few precious hours to spend with her dear friend and his elven lover. She had been surprised to find him reserved and thoughtful, quite the opposite of her charming and brash friend. Though as the minutes had ticked by, Torin had opened up and Elissa had caught quick glimpses of a quiet, yet thoroughly wicked, sense of humor. Throughout it all, Ambrose had gazed upon his lover with such adoration and wonder, Elissa could not help but feel secure in knowing that she had made the right choice. If nothing else, Elissa could give her friend the peace of mind that came with knowing his love was safe and protected. To the Void with accusations and lies thrown her way by crazed revolutionaries, if those remaining fourteen guardsmen lived to see another sunrise, she had done her job.

As her dungeons filled to capacity, the cells teeming with angry prisoners, Elissa felt a cold hand of unease settle over her, and for days she would find herself glancing over her shoulder, steeling herself for a blow that never seemed to come.

But come it would….

~oOo~

"I don't know how to feel about this, Alistair," Elissa sighed, hands resting lightly on the pommel of her saddle. Alistair brought his gelding to stop and turned to regard her with compassion filled eyes.

"I refuse to let you spend another afternoon pouring over reports and working yourself into exhaustion. You need this, Elissa," he said softly, but with a commanding edge. Earlier that morning Alistair had stolen her from her work, stuffed her into a woolen riding dress of deep emerald green, and thrown her atop a speckled grey mare. When she had sputtered her objections he had silenced her with a grin and finger wag, scolding her as if she were a child. Once she had ceased her theatrics he had pleasantly informed her that she would not be working that day, but instead would accompany him on a hunt in the royal wood. Elissa would have argued more forcibly if he had not, at that moment, gifted her with the most exquisite bow she had ever laid eyes on. It was carved from dragon bone, the ivory polished to a mirror shine. Creeping bands of scrollwork were etched along the surface, mapping out an intricate pattern that was too complex for her eyes to take in all at once. It was only when she spied her name; delicately worked into the widest part of the grip did she realize what the engraving betokened. It was a family tree of sorts, every inch of the magnificent weapon covered in the names of those who had come before her, written in the most flowery, detailed, script she had ever seen; each letter harkening the Cousland line back into generations long past. From the bottom recurve to the grip, Elissa could trace the history of her family with finger tips. Above her name was a two inch gap and then the beautiful lettering began anew, this time with Alistair's name and the long, distinguished Theirin line crawling to the top recurve.

"Alistair," she had breathed, wonder clear in her voice. Her husband had smiled and traced a finger gently over the blank space, waiting to be graced with a name.

"For our children," he supplied, "they complete it, and our two houses are one."

Elissa had swallowed hard, placing a hand unconsciously over her abdomen. Since the night of the tourney, they had not laid together as a couple, though it was not from lack of wanting. Despite his lewd banter and knowing looks, Alistair had remained a perfect gentleman behind closed doors, giving her easy, soft kisses that left her wanting more and warmed her blood. Each night he would pull her close, ask her questions about her life and hold her as they drifted off to sleep, and every morning she would wake to find herself still wrapped in her husband's embrace. She wasn't sure what kept the two of them from carnal relations, but she could sense something hidden behind Alistair's eyes, a secret that hovered on the edge of their blossoming marriage, and she suspected that whatever information she was agonizing over was the reason for their chaste interactions. Elissa cherished the burgeoning relationship, but her body ached for more. And with her courses having come and gone the previous week, the mention of children brought the idea of such couplings to the forefront of her mind.

And so the pair had ridden into the royal wood, a contingent of guards trailing behind. Alistair had been merry, sending his dogs into the underbrush to flush out game. Elissa had watched it all, letting fly a few arrows from her miraculous bow, bringing down a plump pheasant neatly; but it all felt hollow. She felt guilty and selfish to be enjoying the last days of autumn, in all her court finery, holding a bow that she couldn't even fathom a price for, while her citizens wasted away in dungeons and revolted openly in the streets.

"I am not exhausted," she said at length, replying to Alistair's accusation; though her voice was steady, the dark circles under her eyes gave away the lie in her words. Alistair raised an eyebrow in disbelief and snorted.

"Last night I came to fetch you for bed and found you asleep on your desk…drooling."

"I do not drool!" she gasped in outrage and wheeled her mount away from him. Alistair laughed and followed easily behind.

"Oh, but you do. And what's more, you snore," he teased, "who knew such a highborn lady could act so common?" Elissa turned in her saddle and flicked her reins at him. Alistair startled at the sting and grinned. "Oh is that how it's going to be?" He snapped his own reins back at her and she shied away, her mare dancing below her.

"You'll have to be faster than that, my king," she taunted, before setting her heals against her mount and setting off into the trees. Alistair laughed before giving chase, leaving the stunned guards behind to scramble after. The couple crashed through the thick cover of braches and leaves, cutting a path through the wood with breathless laughter. Elissa managed to stay ahead of her husband, a determined smile painted on her lips. Alistair was a far better horseman than she at first suspected, but she had been riding since before she could walk, and she navigated the treacherous ground with ease. Her mare shied when she approached a stream and she quickly brought the animal to halt, sliding from the saddle to land in the water with a cooling splash.

Skirts hiked up to her knees she daintily crossed the waterway and just as she reached the bank, she heard an answering splash from behind her. Alistair grinned at her as she lumbered his way through the stream and Elissa shrieked in mock surprise before darting into the tree line once more. For the next ten minutes Alistair gave chase, the two sneaking through the cover of leaves and trunks seeking to outwit one another. Just as Elissa was creeping silently past an ancient willow tree, a pair of hands darted out from beneath the curtain of the branches and pulled her beneath the canopy. She laughed breathlessly as Alistair pressed her to the trunk of the great tree, a grin of triumph painted upon his features. The pair struggled to slow their panting, but in the space of one breath and the next, a delicious sort of tension filled the air between them.

"Elissa..." Alistair breathed, hands flexing on her shoulders. She supplied no answer but ran her fingers up the silk of his doublet, eyes locked with his. Outside the privacy of the willow tree, birds chirped a warning of the coming guard, but neither noticed. Ever so slowly Elissa twined her hands into Alistair's perpetually messy hair and pulled him closer, chest going tight with every inch that disappeared. When at last their lips met, tentative and gentle, she felt a dam break inside her and she moaned softly. With that one noise, the tension exploded and the two grasped desperately at each other; mouths hungrily fused. Hands tore at fabric that caged flesh and Elissa gasped when Alistair popped the buttons from her ridding coat so as to snake a hand inside to grip at her waist.

"Alistair, please…" she whispered, arching into him, "I need you."

"Elissa, wait-" he ground out, the words mumbled between misses.

"No wait," she muttered, pulling his head to her neck.

"Please…I have to-before…you need to know…I made a promise-" he groaned against her skin, voice seeking control, though his hands continued to rove over her body.

"Your Majesty!" a voice called out and a guardsman stumbled into the canopy of the tree. Alistair whirled about and pressed Elissa against his back, shielding her disheveled state from view.

"You better have a damned good explanation for this," he growled.

"Begging your pardon," the guard said, eyes downcast, "but we just got word: the market is on fire."

Elissa stifled a gasp against her husband's back and she felt Alistair tense at the news.

"Fetch our horses, we'll leave at once," Alistair commanded before turning back to his wife. The guard bowed quickly and left the two of them alone once more. Neither said a word, but gazed at each other with a twisted sense of foreboding and desire. Eventually Elissa regained herself and began to fumble at her ruined buttons. Alistair helped her as much as he could, and between the two of them they managed to close the ruined panel enough to hide her corset from view. The sounds of hooves pawing the ground brought them out from the haven of the willow tree and the pair climbed into the saddle, mouths grim, as the rode out to witness the devastation.

~oOo~

It was worse than she thought. When she and Alistair had arrived at the city gates, an army of soldiers and guardsmen had instantly surrounded them, refusing them entrance until the flames had abated. The smell of ashes and burnt embers engulfed her senses and she could taste the acrid scent of burning flesh on the back of her tongue. Hours passed as the flames licked at the sky, painting the horizon a vicious red. It was only when the sun had set, had the catastrophe been contained and the royal pair deemed safe to enter Denerim once more.

As soon as they were safely behind palace walls, Eamon met them with the grim report. A group of drunken, angry, sailors had entered the Alienage and expressed their displeasure with recent events by vandalizing a number of homes, smearing feces and mud across doorways, leaving stinking slurs blazoned on the roofs in tar and muck. A group of Mortain's followers had struck back, stalking the soldier's responsible into the Gnawed Noble Tavern and demanding they pay for their crime in blood. The soldiers were only too happy to oblige, and so the fight began. Whether it was intentional, or sheer dumb luck, an elf had stumbled into the fire place and kicked a burning log free. Within minutes the place was engulfed in flames, and the rest of the market followed suit soon after.

Elissa listened to the death and injury tolls being read and felt herself grow sick. Over fifty dead, hundreds more injured, and twenty five not expected to survive the night. It was too much and Elissa fled the throne room, racing towards the stables. She had to see, to know for certain whether the numbers were right. It felt too large, too great, and she was sure that once she walked the width and breadth of the market square that she would find a different story. Alistair called after her, but she paid him no heed.

When at last she reached the stables she snapped for the guards stationed nearby to attended her and leapt into the saddle of the nearest readied horse. Not bothering to see if her commanded was followed she set her heels into the horse's flanks and sped towards the castle gates, the scent of smoke growing more oppressive with every foot.

Elissa was amazed by the sheer devastation of it. Burnt out husks of once sturdy structures crumbled into ash before her eyes. Moans of the injured washed through the streets and everywhere she turned she encountered piles of bloody, twisted bodies: victims of the fire and the madness between two races.

Having seen more than she needed, she silently turned her horse and headed home, a confused guard trailing behind her. On the slow journey back to the castle, she felt her heart break for those charred corpses that littered her streets. So many lives reduced to nothing but causalities in the power play between Mortain and the crown. It hurt her, deep down, in a place she did not know existed, and a part of her knew that nothing would ever be the same.

When she wearily made her way to the royal bed chamber, heart heavy and broken, she stared hard at the door for many moments. At last she pushed it open to reveal Alistair standing before the fireplace, a missive clutched in his hand.

"Alistair…" she intoned, voice empty of anything but sorrow. He jumped at her voice and dropped the missive to the ground. Idly, Elissa watched the paper flutter to a landing, but she found she could not bring herself to care overly much about what was written upon it.

"Elissa…Maker, I was worried about you. Don't ever go riding off like that again!" he whispered, crossing the distance and pulling her close. When he angled to pull away she caught his face in her hands and pulled him in for a kiss. It not an act of passion, or desire…it was not an overture at all, in fact, but a request, a beseeching for him to comfort her in the most basic way possible that evening.

"Elissa…" he protested against her lips and she silenced him with a shake of her head.

"Please…it's too much, and I need to not be a Queen. Just for this evening, can I not bear the weight of a crown? Can I forget about Mortain and the death that is his namesake? Can I just be a woman this night, and you a man, and all the secrets and duties in the world melt away until it is nothing but _this_ and _us?_" she pleaded, voice breaking towards the end. Elissa could see the moment his resolved shattered and she sighed in gratitude as he swept her into his arms, muscles bunching beneath her weight.

Ever so gently he laid her atop the bed, feathering kisses across her face as he eased his weight atop her. Elissa responded with a fierce sort of need, a desire to wash the feel of death and ashes from her skin and replace them with the feel of his hands on her flesh, baptizing her anew with his touch.

It was different this time, gentler, softer, but just as dangerous for what it betokened. With a kind of reverence Alistair divested her of her clothes, fingertips leaving a trail of shivers as he grazed her skin. Every portion of flesh he uncovered, he paid homage to with lips and hands, easing the pain with tenderness and understanding. Soon every one of her nerves was alight and the slightest breath upon her skin would have her writhe beneath him. And still he continued, seeking to leach her pain with this sacred act. Only when the tears began to flow, and she let go of the wall that protected herself from the horror of the day, did he drift his touch downwards to slide two fingers gently into her sheath. Elissa gasped in awe, amazed at his touch. Alistair murmured soothing sweet nothings as he glided his hand against the wetness of her folds. Over and over her he extolled her virtues, the quiet words trailing over his tongue and finding a way straight to her bruised heart. When at last he found that spot inside her, the place where her pleasure lived and her pushed gently, she exploded with a quite fire, hips bucking, and mouth gasping. The tears traced tracks against her cheeks and she felt the burden of the day flow out into the world, leaving her cleansed of guilt and despair.

When she had quieted, Alistair rolled gently atop her, sliding himself deep within her in one long stroke. She arched her back and rose to meet him, hands clasping at his back. He slid an arm around her waist and leaned back on his haunches, pulling them up into a tight embrace. Elissa smoothly wrapped her legs about his hips and stared down in wonder at this man who hold her with such tenderness and adoration it almost hurt. His eyes stared back at her, amazement plain in his gaze as well. They both paused, coming to the same conclusion all at once…they were not simply succumbing to their desire and lust for one another…this was something else all together. This was intimate, shared, and the knowledge carried thousands of implication for just what exactly they felt for one another.

Questions would come later, for now it was enough that they were together, in that place, and Elissa softly began to move atop Alistair length. He shuddered and pressed against her hips, encouraging her. Over and over she rode him, breasts pressed hard against his chest, hips seeking out a release she could not name. She could feel it building, smoldering in the center of her being, and without warning it burst from her, tearing an exalted scream from her throat. Alistair cried out as her walls spasmed around him, tightening in the just the right way. He followed her over the edge, her name on his lips like prayer.

When at last they quieted Elissa placed a trembling kiss upon Alistair's brow, hands shaking as she cradled his face.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he pulled her close in response. How long they lay there, wrapped in one another's embrace, it was not known, but neither dared move and break the fragile spell that had woven between them. They both knew that something had forever shifted between them, and neither were sure they could deal with the realities of what that meant…nor was either one eager to give it voice, each for their own reasons.

Alistair at last stirred, having to attend to human necessities. Elissa waited until her was behind the closed door of the bathing chamber before stiffly climbing from the bed and crossing to the armoire, intent on finding a dressing gown to chase away the night chill. Upon her return to the bed, she stepped upon something that crinkled under foot and she peered down at the stones, finding Alistair's disregarded missive upon the floor. Quietly she bent down to retrieve it and turned to place it upon her husband's desk. She stopped in her tracks when she spied a name that still sent shivers of inadequacy through her: Harlow.

Despite her better judgment, Elissa began to read, and felt the calm she achieved only minutes before evaporate.

_My dearest Bastard King,_

_ First, may I say, congratulations on your recent nuptials, my friend. I would have sent our tidings sooner, but, as always, complication arose. Such is life, yes?_

_ Alistair…are you aware that your life is once more in danger, _mi amigo_? Just last week I was approached by a band of elves, seeking mercenaries amongst their race to topple the Theirin throne. I must admit, the idea did appeal to me, though Harlow smack me for even entertaining such a thing. Instead she insisted I ride to your rescue once more. What is it you are doing, I wonder, that causes such frequent desire for your demise?_

_ You shall expect me in a week's time, my friend, if my timing of this letter is accurate. Fear not, Harlow will not be accompanying me. Even if she desired to, I would balk at such thing…the more time and distance between the two of you is all to the better in my eyes. Oh yes, she told me of your promise…your noble calling and the decades that separate your reunion. Fear not, Alistair, I only contemplated slitting your throat for a mere day before I came to terms with the arrangement. Having better understood what you Wardens sacrifice, it is something I can accept with grace. When weighed against the years I shall have with her, I can not begrudge you a few weeks. _

_ I shall see you soon, my friend. Until then…do try to stay alive._

_-Zevran A._

"Elissa?" Alistair voiced asked quietly, dragging her from her reverie. She snapped her head up and swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to the missive.

"What is this, Alistair?" she asked, voice impassive as the implications of what she just uncovered upended her world. Alistair said nothing but sighed, and Elissa knew in that moment that despite what she had come to believe, Harlow Tabris' presence still weighed heavily on her marriage and her heart.


End file.
